


When Dreamers Meet

by EmPhoenixCat



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Baking, Cooking, culinary arts student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 04:18:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15766452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmPhoenixCat/pseuds/EmPhoenixCat
Summary: College student, Virgil Reve, struggles with his self-doubt as he questions his life decisions. Little does he know, that his career choice....his dream....will lead him to meeting some interesting people.





	When Dreamers Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: slight mention of bugs, bad living environment (hoarding), food mention, slight parental neglect  
> Let me know if I should add anything

He was up late again, just staring at the ceiling and letting the music flood his ears as he spiraled further and further away from himself. His anxieties raced around and around like a hurricane in his head as the dreams fought to stay. So many possibilities existed, much more than he could ever keep track of. They were like stars in the night sky, so very beautiful and so very far. How did the world ever expect him to just choose one? What if he picked the wrong one?

Virgil tossed and turned restlessly, finally settling on a comfortable position where he could watch the sunrise with ease. Such things were important to him when the doubts got louder. It was like the entire world was upside down and every thought was shouting at him, telling him that his dreams were never going to come true. How could they when the universe was so vast and he was but a mere infinitesimal speck of stardust? Impossible.  

But still….there were bright golden sunrises, exhilarating and calming all at the same time. There was music that filled the empty darkness inside his soul. There were stories and poems and art. People outside his worried little mind, people going places and meeting others and experiencing new things and making differences all around the world. This world that he was supposedly a part of. He could do it too if he really tried. At least….that’s what he hoped.

The sun was in the sky and one of his songs were coming to an end as silent tears ran down his face. Oh, he hated it when his mind was like this. There was no reason for the butterflies in his stomach or the fears that flashed before him. Why couldn’t he just sleep? If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was draw or write something. Maybe he could fill out more job applications or join a discord chat or post something stupid on tumblr, but no. He just laid there, pondering his place in the universe like some goddamned idiot. Ugh.

It seemed like everyone he had ever met had known what they wanted to do. And now he was in college surrounded by diligent students working towards some sort of end goal. Meanwhile, it had taken Virgil nearly four years to figure it out.

He still wasn’t certain it was the right decision. His parents were definitely going to freak once they learned what his heart was set on. They had high hopes for him; his mom encouraging him to go into the medical field. And for a while, Virgil had actually agreed on going for a nursing major, but a small part of him always felt that the actual reason was less based on want and more based on fears. A nursing major was the safe option, the smart option; he was certain to get a pretty good salary for such a job. Not only that, but he really did enjoy helping people. It was talking to them that was the problem. It was constantly worrying about them that was the even bigger problem. Did he truly want to go into the medical field or was he just preparing for all the gruesome worst case scenarios that he couldn’t help imagining? Now that was the real question. If he took his intrusive thoughts out of the equation entirely, what did he _truly_ want?

Virgil laid on his bed, drumming his fingers along to a new song as he pondered the question. Truth be told, he already knew the answer. He was just too scared….absolutely terrified, actually.

Being as anxious as he was, speaking to people had never been an easy task for him. And yet, it had always been something he had wanted to do. To sing, to dance, to laugh, to act. He envied anyone who could do that in front of others without hardly breaking a sweat. For some, it seemed that the world was at their fingertips. They had so much power and they didn’t even realize it sometimes. If only they knew what a feat it was for someone like him to simply greet a stranger. He wasn’t even sure if he could get a minimum-wage job and survive. Dreaming was almost out of the question for him. Virgil knew it was better to just let the people more capable than him go out and be social. Others were more adept at becoming leaders, performers, and entrepreneurs.

But what was the point of living if he didn’t take chances every now and again?

Virgil felt that his life up until this point had been rather dull and depressing. His parents constantly yelled and argued about stupid little things that hardly mattered to him anymore. Things like the messy house filled to the brim with stuff that nobody really needed anymore. His mom hoarded her useless plastic bags and expired coupons as she kept buying thrifty clothes that they barely wore. The place was an evergrowing junk heap and Virgil wanted nothing more than to set it aflame. It wasn’t home no matter how much she claimed otherwise. No, this place had ceased being home a long time ago, even before his brother had died.

Their house was like a representation of the mind, particularly his mother’s mind. The more life screwed her over, the more she replaced the holes in her heart with objects. They were drowning in memorabilia, garbage, and cobwebs. She was so lost in her own emotions that she didn’t see the people living there. Virgil couldn’t invite people over because it was much too embarrassing for guests to see. There was no place to sit down, no space on the kitchen table, no room to dance or exercise, no room to breathe. It was suffocating.

It sucked because Virgil wasn’t allowed many places either. His mother coddled him, keeping him from walking to school or from going camping or from traveling with friends (not that he had many anyway). It was really no wonder that such things gave him anxiety. His world had been crushed and minimized to these walls and these boxes and these papers and these books. Objects that he had learned were much more important than he ever was or ever could be.

He wanted to get out as soon as possible, but he figured he needed a job and a solid career goal of some sort. And sometimes it was quite easy to dream when he stared into his family’s empty, unused kitchen. He would remember when he was young and he’d write out a list of all the jobs he wanted to have when he was older. He’d hang the list on the fridge and it would change each week, ranging from author to firefighter to doctor to artist to singer to baker and other miscellaneous jobs. He’d ask his parents why he couldn’t simply be all of them.

How naive he had been.

An older version of Virgil would sit in that kitchen and just stare at the dark room and the spiderwebs that resided in the windows. There was so much garbage left on the floor and table, little ugly maggots could sometimes be found wriggling around on something rotten. He hated them so much, he sometimes found himself running up to his room to starve himself for the rest of the day, not wanting to think about the way things decay. How could they have let it get this bad? It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t reach the stove or oven. It wasn’t fair that his mom yelled at him whenever he tried to clean and throw out the trash. It wasn’t fair that she thought he was lazy for not helping her clean things the way _she_ wanted.

Virgil wasn’t a naive child anymore. He had once been a bright-eyed kid who wanted to help in whatever way he could, but after years of wiping down bins and sorting papers and washing out bottles, he began to realize that nothing was getting better. You can’t clean a house properly if you never get rid of anything. Oh, but it was his fault. Everything was surely his fault.

She’d guilt-trip him and scream about his laziness. She’d tell him that he had no reason to be anxious and depressed, constantly pushing him to go out and be social, but not wanting him to be away from home for too long.

And maybe that was the reason why he dreamed of home….a real home where the people didn’t constantly scream at him and where others could come and go as they pleased. Somewhere relaxing and inviting, without garbage and rot.

Every moment spent eating junk food that made his stomach and heart feel heavy, every moment he spent not even being able to microwave a meal, every moment he spent sitting in that kitchen remembering past Thanksgivings and Christmases that could’ve been wonderful, but were spent at someone else’s house instead, every moment he spent wondering if maybe one day he could bake a cake for his friend’s birthday if only he could reach the damned oven….all of it made him more and more certain of something that had been creeping at the back of his mind ever since he was a young child.

Virgil wanted to cook and bake and experiment with ingredients. He wanted a clean and clear kitchen space that always smelled like warm memories and happy holidays. He wanted to brighten someone’s day with nice hot meals, fresh and savory. He wanted to create his own little place within the world where everything was okay. If others were having trouble at their house or school or work, they would have a safe and comforting space to turn to.

He didn’t just want it, he envisioned it. It was colorful and peaceful, music and sunlight filling it just right. People bustling in after seeing a marvelously artistic window display and staying once they picked up the scent of freshly baked cinnamon buns and rich fudge brownies. Busy students working on homework together at tables as they treat themselves to a cappuccino or mocha. Yes, it would be busy and strange, all these people talking to him and idly chatting, but it would be _home._

Virgil smiled lightly and closed his eyes as he let the beautiful image of it dance in his mind. The sunlight poured through his bedroom window and the music continued through his headphones as his worries finally paused long enough for him to finally fall asleep, dreams filling the emptiness that he had felt in his soul not too long ago.

It wasn’t fantastical like a fairytale and others would argue that it was a lame kind of dream, but it was _his_ dream. What did it matter if it wasn’t epic or unusually daring? He wanted to help people in his own way and break down some of his isolative walls. There was a part of him that believed maybe, just maybe….a mere speck of stardust could make a bit of difference after all.


End file.
